


Victorious

by beelivia



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Celebratory Sex, Closeted Character, Fluff, I'm just very gay and want post-game smut leave me alone, M/M, Mild Angst, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Smut, Soccer Player!Nick, World Cup fic, Yes I'm aware the final match of the 2014 cup was Germany/Brazil not US/Brazil, and yes I'm aware that the US didn't qualify this year, homophobia mentions, married, poor descriptions of sports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-22
Updated: 2018-06-22
Packaged: 2019-05-26 20:52:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15009209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beelivia/pseuds/beelivia
Summary: Nick scores the winning goal in his match, so Sonny helps him celebrate.(Self indulgent World Cup smut)





	Victorious

**Author's Note:**

> I'm very small and very gay and this is what I do now

When he was younger, Sonny used to look up to the players in the world cup. He lived on tales of the legendary Pele and grainy recordings of insane goals that shook the world. For a while, he dreamed of this, but it was made clear by childhood bullies that he was too scrawny to make it far. Sometimes he wonders what would’ve happened if he hadn’t listened and had kept going, but others he’s content with his sideline seat watching the game. No matter how many times he watches up close, he can never get over how different it is. The energy of the stadium, all screaming fans and sloshing beer and flags that wave like badges of honor.

One of the (many) advantages to marrying Nick Amaro, star player for the USA is that he always gets prime tickets, cocky ones by the opposing team’s goal because Nick insists that’s where most of the action will be. He’s usually right. But that’s not what any of this is about. Sonny loves Nick because he’s, well, Nick. Charming, sweet, romantic, intelligent, and downright gorgeous. The kind of heartthrob that colors magazines with his signature smile and a well-fitting suit that doesn’t disguise the athletic frame that years of training and running have given him. He’s a worldwide sensation now. While he’ll never be legendary, he’ll definitely go down as one of the greats. That’s something Nick deserves, having worked his way up from the very bottom with nothing but the skin on his back and a pair of thrift store cleats.

 

A scrambled mess of players are in the corner right in front of Sonny, scuffling for the ball and dancing around each other. Nick has control of it, carefully maneuvering it between his feet and searching desperately for an opening. Injury time could be called to an end at any second, and if USA scores one more goal, it’s not a tie. The 1-1 scoreboard and its mocking red letters loom over the stadium, and even from this distance, Sonny can see the glint of sweat on Nick’s face and the bulge in his cheek where Nick pokes his tongue when he’s concentrating. He has to find an out.

“C’mon, Nicky!” He screams. “You can do it!”

It has to be coincidence, but at that moment he swears that Nick glances up at him. Then his face curls into a grin and he manages to kick the ball through the mess and pass it to one of the other players on his team, a new upstart who seems in awe that he’s finally been passed the ball. Sonny doesn’t have time to read the name on the back of his jersey, just to scream as Nick breaks free of the mob and sprints, pushing himself to the limit to reach the corner of the goal box in a clear request. The ball is passed back to him and he does something fancy to kick the ball up into the air- not what the goalie was expecting- and take a header to put it straight into the right corner of the goal.

Sonny jumps to his feet just like most of the stadium, cheering so loud he feels it in his throat and unable to keep a smile off his face. The ref calls the end of the game and Nick is buried beneath an avalanche of his teammates. All of them are grinning and cheering and laughing, still holding onto each other when they get back up because it’s a victory, and a last second one at that. Sonny can’t get out of his seat and down to the sidelines fast enough, flashing his name badge to get through the security. As soon as Nick comes off the field and the cameras start to focus on the losers, he picks Sonny up in his excitement and holds him tight. It doesn’t matter that he’s sweaty and gross from an hour and a half on the field, or that Sonny can feel how fast Nick’s heart is beating, or that the cameras are starting to turn back to them. He just holds on for as long as he can before Nick sets him down, beaming.

Next thing he knows he’s ushered away from Nick so the cameras can swarm him and ask him about the game and the winning goal and all the other stuff that fans drool over. Social media in the morning will be flooded with comments of how good he looks flushed and exhausted, lifting his shirt to wipe his face and exposing his chest in the process. Fans eat it up, but Sonny knows it was for his benefit, especially because after he does it, Nick finds him in the crowd and smirks. 

He gets sick of it eventually though, watching young fans push their chests out and bat their eyelashes as they beg Nick to sign this or that. Unlike the rest of the players, he acquiesces with a smile and gifts heartfelt words, every bit the charismatic sweetheart that everyone paints him to be. He finally has to step in and tell Nick that they do need to get going back to their hotel. It stings a little, pretending to just be Nick’s friend as he leads him away from the masses. The hand he has on Nick’s back can’t dip lower, and he has to keep himself from kissing him at all until they get back to their room. While a lot of people, including most of the team, would be supportive, Sonny can’t deny that the world would mostly reject Nick for being openly queer. His career would be over, sponsorships gone. A life of sportsmanship destroyed and disgraced. It hurts, but Sonny keeps that to himself because this isn’t his decision to make.

“Damn good game,” he says as they get into the team’s bus. Everyone else is already seated, some with their wives or girlfriends in their laps, most with beers in hand. “That goal at the end? Shit, Nick, it was brilliant. No one expected that.”

“I know.”

Sonny scoffs and bumps their shoulders together like he doesn’t hear the thanks behind the words that can’t be seriously given in front of the team. They’re quiet after that, not wanting to accidentally say something that can’t be taken back, but feeling Nick at Sonny’s side the entire car ride is enough. Whatever happens, they belong to each other, and the wedding band that Nick doesn’t wear to games gleams gold on his finger now. They exchange fleeting flirty looks the whole way, making a thick tension that stretches between them like taffy. Somehow they keep it together though, even in the elevator while some of Nick’s teammates and their girls practically fuck against the brushed metal walls. Sonny rolls his eyes more than once, but Nick just laughs at him and tells him to wait.

By the time they’re safely in their room, Sonny is impatient. He crowds Nick against the door and starts kissing him, taking everything he couldn’t right after the match, running his hands beneath the sticky jersey and mapping the muscles that are so familiar to the touch. In moments like this, Nick doesn’t belong to the rest of the world. He just belongs to Sonny. Only Sonny gets to see him like this, exhausted but giddy and wanting, lifting his arms for help prying away his jersey and discarding it on the floor to be picked up and thrown in the wash later. Sonny will probably wear one of them to the next match, and no one will know that he didn’t just buy an Amaro jersey from Adidas; he’s wearing a genuine one. That’s a thought for another time, when he doesn’t have Nick hard and pulling Sonny’s hips against his own with a firm grip on his ass. It’s easy to forget, he thinks, how strong Nick actually is. He runs light on the field, almost like a dancer, and it’s all lean muscle built for agility and endurance. The fact is that Nick is strong and he can do things like grab Sonny’s thighs and pick him up to carry him to bed- which he absolutely does.

Unlike their bed at home, this mattress is too soft and instead of bouncing Sonny just sinks into it with a laugh. At least it’s not a waterbed like the last world cup (which Nick helped win) in Brazil, those things are impossible. They wound up having sex on the floor, giving Sonny rug burn that he wore like a badge of honor for a week. Nick had gotten mad though, said he felt bad. After that it was just wall sex, something that Sonny definitely can’t complain about.

“Does no one know how to make a good mattress?” he complains.

Nick laughs at him as he joins him on the bed, kneeling with his knees bracketing Sonny’s hips. “Missing home already?”

“I’m always home with you.”

“Romantic,” Nick teases, then ducks his head to go back to kissing Sonny. 

His kisses are an entire experience unto themselves, sloppy but at the same time calculated to make Sonny fall apart. It’s never just a kiss with him. It’s his hips rolling against Sonny’s, it’s his hands grabbing at any skin he can reach, it’s the sound he makes in the back of his throat when Sonny pulls his hair. Everything goes quickly, always does, but stretches between them in a moment of want and love. Possessiveness makes itself known in the back of Sonny’s mine, begging him to claim and take and make it known that Nick is his. He knows the rules- no marks that can be seen- but he still wants to leave reminders that Nick chose him, Nick loves him,

Kissing turns to Nick mouthing down Sonny’s neck and shoving at his shirt to get it off. He gets frustrated at not being able to get rid of it fast enough and grabs the thin fabric in tight fists to rip it off. Somehow, Sonny can’t bring himself to complain. Both of them are eager to get out of their clothes and feel each other and ride the kind of exuberance that only comes from a victory like this. Sonny’s attention goes to Nick’s shorts, trying to get rid of them and in the process feeling the firm muscles of his ass that shift beneath his palms with every single movement. He wants, he needs, and damn he can’t remember if the lube is in the nightstand yet or if it’s still tucked away in his suitcase.

“Sonny- baby- want-”

“I’ve got you,” he says, because sometimes Nick gets a little caught up in moments like this. Everything pushes together in a jumbled mess of excitement and need and Nick doesn’t have the calmness to think about things like that. “I’ve got you. Nightstand?”

“Don’t remember.”

“Check.”

Nick breaks away to claw at the drawer until he comes up with what he’s looking for, a relieved expression on his face that he doesn’t have to get up to hunt it down. Before Sonny can blink, his own pants have been ripped away and Nick is between his legs, holding them open with his own as he reaches between them to rub two slick fingers against Sonny’s ass. He tries to ask for more but his words catch in his throat because Nick knows him, knows that it doesn’t take much for him to get worked up, and he’s whimpering at the sudden stretch. Usually Nick likes to take his time absolutely ruining Sonny, making him beg and probably cry. On nights like this though, he just wants to fuck Sonny hard and fast until the only word he knows is Nick’s name.

Sometimes he swears that Nick is more familiar with his body than he is, although maybe it’s just because all their years spent together have given Nick the opportunity to learn every sensitive spot. It doesn’t matter because it all feels good, even the slight ache as Nick pushes in a third finger and keeps fucking him with them. It’s not careful or for pleasure, he recognizes that in the way that Nick isn’t searching for that one spot that makes Sonny scream and that Nick’s hand is firm and tight around his thigh pushing it up to his chest. He’s not that flexible and it’s a pain he’ll feel in the morning, but it’s worth it because of how it makes Nick look at him. Like he’s the only one in the whole world. His chest is unexpectedly full with how good it feels to be wanted.

“Fuck me, c’mon, Nicky,” he pleads.

Even though it’ll be a lot more than just three of Nick’s fingers, he can’t wait. He just wants to know that this moment is his and his alone. And he gets it, Nick pulling away and using the leftover lube on his fingers to slick up his cock. It hangs heavy between his legs, a little neglected from how much of the focus was on Sonny, but starting to leak precum at finally being touched. With a little more time, he’d be desperate to get his mouth on it, but right now he just wants to be fucked.

Nick moves Sonny’s other leg up too and holds it there while he pushes himself inside, eyes shutting and mouth falling open as he does. The leftover effects of the game make every sensation still heightened, his body not yet relaxing and giving into the faint desire to sleep. He’s definitely going to leave bruises but Sonny doesn’t mind. He’ll remember them fondly until they disappear and long after. 

“Move.”

And Nick does, not holding back or starting slowly. That’s how he likes it in moments like this, fast and rough and making Sonny’s brain turn to mush. Within seconds, the entire world narrows down to Nick, just Nick. Heavy breathing and calloused hands and the sharp lines of his hipbones that slam against Sonny’s ass every time he pushes all the way in. Everything about him, the way he fills Sonny up and fucks him like nothing else is important, is perfect. 

“Nick, Nick, Nicky, fuck, please,” he whines, trying to get more, harder, faster, now.

He tries to touch himself only for his hand to be swatted away. “You come from my cock, or you don’t come, understand me?”

The sound Sonny makes is something like an agreement, but it’s more a moan than anything else. He doesn’t doubt he can get off like this, has countless times before. Some of his fondest memories are of being pinned to stall doors in public bathrooms, hands bracing himself against the walls while Nick fucks him with his face buried in Sonny’s neck. He just needs that little extra push, something to help him get there before Nick does because he can tell from the sloppy rhythm and the low growls that he’s getting close.

“Need- I want- Nicky, please, pleasepleasepleaseplease....”

Uncoordinated, sloppy hands reach up again but this time for Nick. He just needs something. More, a little push of something because it’s all so good- the way he hits Sonny’s prostate and how he’s falling apart on top of him just as much as he’s making Sonny a mess. But the thing about all their time together is that Nick always knows what he needs, sometimes before he himself does.

Nick takes one of his hands and laces their fingers together. He holds it tight and it’s a silent promise of the day that they won’t have to hide, when Sonny can jump into Nick’s arms after a game and kiss him like the other players’ girls do and not have to worry about how it’ll ruin Nick and the image he’s fought so hard to build. It’s that small gesture that allows him to relax and feel the pleasure build to a crescendo. No one has ever made him feel like Nick does, and they never will because this moment right here is one that he wants to live in forever. Just starting to cum, with Nick moaning and clinging to him and deep inside of him, making him feel good.

“Fuck, I’m gonna- Sonny-”

He feels the moment that Nick comes. Wet, warm, kind of gross in a way he’ll be annoyed at when he comes down from his own high. His legs are finally allowed to fall as Nick captures his lips in a searing kiss. This is his. This kiss, this feeling, is completely one hundred percent his. And when Nick pulls out and drags himself to the shower, teasingly asking Sonny if he wants to join him, he holds onto the feeling in his chest for the next time he wishes they didn’t have to hide.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> Catch me on tumblr @space-carisi


End file.
